


cream

by xuyue



Series: sweet crazy love [4]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Cheeating? but not really, F/M, Grinding, Making Out, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 09:23:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28651215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xuyue/pseuds/xuyue
Summary: the best of the best“Hey,” he greets you, perfect teeth glinting in the fluorescence of the blinding gym lights. You wonder if he’s been offered a toothpaste ad campaign yet. “Come by to sneak a glance of your favourite professional athlete?”You roll your eyes. “You’re the only professional athlete I know.”His grin morphs into a soft smirk. “Doesn’t mean I can’t also be your favourite.”“You always have to be the best, huh?”He shrugs. “Why would I ever want to be anything else?”
Relationships: Oikawa Tooru/Reader
Series: sweet crazy love [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2096952
Comments: 4
Kudos: 174





	cream

**Author's Note:**

> crossposted from my [tumblr](http://stelleum.tumblr.com)
> 
> Do NOT recommend or mention this on tiktok. All your teeth will fall out if you do.

“Hey, Superstar,” you call out wryly as you enter the nearly empty gym.

You observe as a volleyball whizzes past you, a safe ten feet away, before smacking the polished floor with an echoing _crack_. The tall figure behind the net pushes back his sweat-slicked hair and turns to face you.

A smile breaks out on Oikawa’s face and you give him a small wave as you approach, your footsteps resounding throughout the high-ceilinged room.

Although dressed in a simple white t-shirt and worn gym shorts, he’s still the embodiment of peak physical performance; the paragon of national-level athleticism. And somehow, by the virtue of attending the same high school, he’s also your best friend.

“Hey,” he greets you, perfect teeth glinting in the fluorescence of the blinding gym lights. You wonder if he’s been offered a toothpaste ad campaign yet. “Come by to sneak a glance of your favourite professional athlete?”

You roll your eyes. “You’re the _only_ professional athlete I know.”

His grin morphs into a soft smirk. “Doesn’t mean I can’t also be your favourite.”

“You always have to be the best, huh?”

He shrugs. “Why would I ever want to be anything else?”

He picks up another volleyball and tosses it from hand to hand before taking position to serve again.

“Tooru,” you chide, stopping to stand beside a stray volleyball. “We’re going to be late for the movie. Unless you want to watch the midnight showing and get home at 3.”

He grimaces. “My fitness coach would kill me.”

“Then hurry and wrap it up.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he salutes jokingly, lowering the ball to his side.

You spend the next couple of minutes helping him gather the stray balls around the court.

“How’s your boyfriend?” he asks teasingly as he pushes the ball cart towards the storage room.

“He’s _not_ my boyfriend,” you groan, following him to the far end of the gym. “He’s just—he’s just someone I’m seeing.”

“ _Oh_?” he pauses, his sixth sense zeroing in on the sense of conflict in your tone. “What’s been going on there?”

“Nothing,” you lie, but it’s hopeless. And really, knowing Oikawa for so long, you should know better than to be deceptive.

“I don’t know,” you admit, continuing. “He just says that we shouldn’t be that serious,” you frown. “I think he’s seeing other girls, too.”

Producing a key, he turns the lock of the storage room door. “And is he letting you see other guys?”

You bite your lip. “Well he didn’t _specifically_ say I couldn’t. But he wasn’t happy today because—” You hesitate.

“ _Because_?” he cocks his head, a shiny stray lock falling over his temple.

“Because I said I was hanging out with you.”

“ _Ah_.”

“But it’s whatever,” you say, attempting to dispel the weird atmosphere that had settled in the last few seconds. “It’s stupid and I’m an idiot.”

“Do you really think that?” he asks softly, one hand gripping the edge of the cart. Before you can answer, he continues. “I think we both know he’s being kind of shitty. Especially because he’s probably hooking up with other girls.”

“Don’t play the agony aunt,” you scold half-heartedly. “It’s not like you.”

He shrugs. “I don’t really have any good advice to give. Just one bad suggestion.”

He rolls the cart into the room as you stand in the doorway. “Oh yeah, and what would that be?”

He tilts his head toward you, his face mostly obscured by the shadows. “Get even.”

You shift your weight. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he says, turning to walk towards the door again. “Get even. Hook up with other guys. Discover what life’s really about.” He gives you a cheery smile as he shuts the door behind him.

“Life is about hooking up with other guys?” you question, amused.

“It can be,” he says, pocketing the storage room key. “If that’s what excites you.”

You laugh. “I don’t even know who I’d hook up with. I mean, it’s not like I exactly have _time_ to go on dating apps and filter out every guy who’s down for a fuck.”

“True,” he muses. “There’s a lot of weirdos out there.”

“Too many weirdos,” you bemoan in agreement.

“You could hook up with me,” he says abruptly and you stop dead in your tracks.

A second passes and you clear your throat. “Don’t make fun of me,” you scold. “I feel like enough of a loser at it is.”

He shakes his head. “I’m not making fun of you.”

You wet your lips, a bit stunned. Here was Oikawa Tooru, professional volleyball player with a net worth more than you would ever see in your life, offering to hook up with you. Of course, it had already happened once before, many months ago, but you couldn’t help but discount the meaning of that experience. After all, that was before he became a symbol of national pride, beloved by everyone and their mothers.

You turn to assess him. As ever, he stands broad-shouldered and handsome with a quizzical look on his fine features as he waits for your response.

It is wholly unfair.

“And what exactly do you mean by hooking up?” you ask, carefully.

“It can be anything you want,” he says, shrugging. “Like just making out.”

“Just making out,” you parrot, still dazed.

He nods. “We can just make out. If you want.”

“That sounds…” you bite the inside of your cheek. “I don’t know.”

You try to look away from him. Despite it being the dead of winter, the temperature in the room was now much too warm for comfort.

“Do you want to?” he asks lightly.

“Do I want to?” you repeat dumbly. It wasn’t a hard question; you did want to. Who _wouldn’t_ want to?

He takes a step toward you and now he’s less than an arm’s length away. Your pulse begins to hammer in your ears as a warm flush creeps up your neck. You want this. You want to.

A slender finger tucks a strand of loose hair behind your ear and his palm brushes against your cheek. As if on instinct, you lean into the touch, revelling in the warmth of the action.

“Come,” he says, dropping his hand and turning on his heel to walk to the other end of the court. You follow willingly, hurrying to keep up with his long strides.

He leans against the door to the change rooms, pushing it open and motioning for you to enter. You slip past him and dim lights flicker on, triggered by some sort of motion-sensor system.

He locks the door behind him.

“We’re going to miss the movie,” you murmur as he backs you into a set of lockers.

Ducking his head down he brings his face to yours and the familiar scent of him wafts close; a mixture of spearmint, perspiration, and his old laundry detergent.

“I think I can live with that.”

Much to your surprise, you make the first move; tilting your head upward to brush your lips against his. The action in itself is careful and measured—a brief mustering of the wanting that had been wracking your system ever since he’d suggested this.

You feel him smile into the kiss before a hand comes to rest on your jaw. Your fingers twist into the soft material of his shirt and you pull him close, ignoring the hard press of cold metal against your back as he leans into you with his weight.

You sigh as he slips his tongue past your lips, deepening the kiss with with slow, measured movements. His hands drop to your waist, running carefully down to your hips and near the curve of your ass before moving up again.

You wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him back harder, spurned by the light teasing of his touch. He laughs, all breathy and warm into your mouth as he steps backwards, never once loosening his grip on you.

Instead, he backs up another few feet before pulling you off the floor and onto his lap as he settles on the bench in the middle of the room. Your knees hit the hard wood as you straddle him, your thick woollen skirt hiking dangerously far up your thighs.

His thumb starts to trace the top stitching of your knee-highs, short nails running over ridges of the knit fabric as he shifts to press his lips against the curve of your jaw. A soft moan arises from your throat, where he begins to suckle at the sensitive skin.

“ _To-oru_ ,” you gasp as his mouth pulls at the spot near your pulse point. “You’re going to— _ah_ —you’re going to leave a mark,” you whine as he continues, his hands slipping up to grip your thighs.

“I think,” he mumbles, pressing each word against your flushed skin, “that’s the _point_.”

You give a shaky laugh as you think of the guy who’s probably blowing up your phone right about now, demanding to know what you're doing with Oikawa. “But—”

“Fuck that asshole,” he groans, as if reading your mind. Calloused fingers slip under the heavy material of your skirt and you can’t help but moan again as he continues to plant love bites all along your neck.

Perspiration begins to build under the soft weave of your sweater and you move to grab the hem, tugging the piece of clothing up your chest.

Oikawa helps pull the rest of it off you, but not without a smirk as he settles the garment beside him.

“Just making out?”

You roll your eyes and pull him in for an open-mouthed kiss. “We _are_ just making out,” you insist, pressing your hands on his shoulders. “It’s just too hot.” 

“I agree,” he says, before reaching behind him to pull his own shirt off. You bite your lip, marvelling at the toned expanse of his chest as he tosses the fabric to the side.

“Now where were we?” he asks cheekily before you give him a hard prod between the ribs.

“ _Jeez_ , that would really hurt a normal person,” he says and you roll your eyes at the insinuation that he’s _not_ a normal person. Even if, in some cases, it was pretty true.

You tilt your head downwards to kiss him again and something flutters in your stomach as he reciprocates, the action more chaste than you’d intended. You shiver as a calloused palm slides up your bare back, the fingertips running over each divot of your spine.

It’s noticeably careful, the way his hands migrate from your back to your waist, rising only to contact the wire of your bra before stopping. You know then that he’s keeping himself within the boundaries that you had wordlessly confined yourselves to. However, as you feel the soft brush of his fingers against the bottom of your breast, separated only by a layer of fabric, you decide you want more.

“You know,” you begin, your voice low, “you can touch me if you want to.”

You grab his hand and place it directly on your chest and he responds with a throaty sound that’s either a laugh or a gasp. Perhaps it’s both. Nevertheless, he accepts the invitation openly, palming at your breast as he dips down to press kisses along the soft rise of your collarbone.

Your arms wrap around his neck, your wrists knocking together as you swell under his touch.

“ _Take it off_ ,” you urge as he continues to grope you and he obliges, unhooking your bra with an irritating amount of ease. You allow the garment to fall off of you and it lands on your upper thighs, just above the soft bulge that was just starting to make itself apparent under the soft mesh of his shorts.

As you move the article aside, you can’t help but brush against it, a sort of excitement rising in your chest as he twitches under your touch.

“You’re staring,” he remarks, a little strained, and really, you can’t even muster the shame to deny it.

You wet your lips and decide to become a bit more forward, tracing the ridge of his erection with your fingertip slowly. He hisses audibly as you circle the head, gripping your knee and tilting his head back.

“What are you doing to me?” he murmurs, turning his body that so he can lie across the length of the wide bench. You lean over him, your knees planted on either side of his thighs as you bring your face to his.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you whisper cooly, before lowering your head to kiss him again.You bring your hips down to rest your ass against his growing length and he bites his lip at the contact. Your skirt is bunched up around your hips now and the thin cotton of your underwear is pulling tight against your crotch.

“Thought we were just— _ah_ —just _making out_ ,” he breathes, hot and stuttered into your mouth as you grind against him.

“We _are_ ,” you mumble between fevered kisses. Your bodies are flush together now with a startling lack of clothing but it was true; nothing past that had happened _yet._ But you were more than willing to push the boundary, especially with the warm press of his clothed cock between your thighs.

Your fingers hook under the elastic of his shorts, teasing against the hard lines of his hipbones. He gives you an amused look and you return it, dragging the band down centimetre by slow, slow centimetre.

“I didn’t know people made out naked,” he chuckles, catching onto the desperation in your actions.

“If they don’t, we can be the first,” you shoot back, pulling his underwear down with the soft, polyester garment. Transfixed, you glance down at the way his cock against his hip, half-hard and flushed at the head. You feel yourself growing warm, the heat concentrating at your core as your pulse shifts downward.

He kicks off the excess clothing before pulling you against him again, capturing your mouth in a fervent kiss. You return it with haste, carding your hands through his already-tousled hair. You can feel him get harder against your inner thigh and the slow-growing dampness of your own underwear pressed against his leaking cock.

“ _Tooru_ — _fuck_ ,” you moan as he shifts his hips to rub against you. “Can we just— _uhm_ —fuck—can I just—“

“Can you just—?” he smirks but it’s a quickly-eroding façade, you can see the want in his eyes too.

“ _CanIgrindonyourcock_?” you hiss into the crook of his neck, hips wriggling in his hold.

You hear him swallow hard before he speaks again. “Y-yeah,” he replies, sounding uncharacteristically stunned as you swing your leg over to pull off your panties.

When you climb over him again, he has the same collected smirk on his face, causing you to roll your eyes as you settle into place.

Taking his cock in your hand, you position it so that the tip lines up with his navel before you lower yourself to rest your cunt along his shaft. Experimentally, you move your hips and the momentary silence of the locker room is broken by the slick sounds of skin against skin, eased along by how wet you already were. 

A moan escapes from your lips as your clit runs over the ridge of the head, causing arousal to flicker in the pit of your stomach. Beneath you, Oikawa bites his lip as he takes in the sight of you, pleasuring yourself with his cock so wantonly like this.

He grabs your waist and quickly sets an even pace as you shake and stutter over his touch, feeling the slow build of ecstasy as you feel the ridges of his length move between your folds and against your clit again and again.

“Feel good?” he asks and you nod fervently, gripping his hands with yours as you struggled to find more friction. You were drenched now and you could feel it coating his cock as you continued to grind against him shamelessly.

“Fuck, you look so hot like this,” he groans, before pulling you down to kiss you, open-mouthed and fevered. You feel his tongue and teeth against yours, drawing you in until all you know is him, rubbing against your core, filling your senses.

Your hips move upward as you get on your knees, breaking the contact between your legs for a moment. You feel his erection against your inner thigh then, the head brushing against your clit, still sticky with precum and your own arousal.

On instinct, you move against the contact, revelling in the way his length rubs against your cunt. You feel the soft drag of the tip between your folds, catching at your opening as you angle yourself to feel all of him. However, instead of pushing against the press of his cock at your core, you continue to rub against the shaft.

Fingers tweak at your nipple and you whimper into a kiss as he rolls the sensitive bud between his fingers. You continue like this for a while, allowing the head of his cock to circle or press against your entrance again and again until it pushes in halfway.

He pauses, opening his eyes to glance at you. “Do you want to go this far?” he whispers and you bite your lip.

“I think—” you breathe, pushing further against him to keep him from slipping out, “—that just a bit is okay.”

He nods, keeping his gaze on yours as you take the rest of the tip inside you slowly, allowing yourself to adjust to the sudden girth.

You lean forward again, riding just the head of his cock in small motions that were growing almost unbearable. You dig your fingers into his arms, whimpering into his neck as you continue to take just a bit of him over and over again.

His grip on your waist is almost rough now, with each movement causing his hold to tighten. You feel him push down on you, desperate to be further inside you and you oblige, only slightly, allowing yourself to take him mid-length.

You don’t think you’ve ever been so desperate now, feeling the tip of his cock brush over the bundle of nerves inside you again and again. You moan his name against his lips now; soft begs for more because you know can’t be the one to initiate it. You want him to take it for himself.

And so he does, thrusting into you while holding you in place, pushing his cock into you entirely. You cry out, feeling him deep inside you for the first time, but he continues fucking you relentlessly; deep, long strokes that cause your vision to go fuzzy at the edges.

He sits up suddenly and pulls you up with him, your legs shaking as you struggle to stand again.

“ _Fuck this_ ,” you hear him hiss impatiently as he bends you over against the lockers. “I want to fuck you for real.”

You feel the tip of his cock pushing into you again and you whimper as he fills you up again hastily, grabbing your hips to position himself further in you. He thrusts into you hard and you almost yelp, his forceful movements spurning bursts of pleasure throughout your entire body.

“You like that?” he asks and you nod frantically.

“Say it,” he commands, his tone low as he drives into you once more.

“I l-like it—” you stutter out, tears welling at the edge of your vision. “Feels so _fu_ -fucking g-good, oh my _god_.”

“Is it better than that asshole’s?” he grits out as he presses you against the warmed metal. “Does he fuck you like this?”

“ _N-no_ ,” you whimper as his pace grows quickened. “Doesn’t fuck me— _ah_ —as good as y-you.”

“That’s right,” he spits, his fingers digging into your waist. “No one fucks you better.”

“ _No one fucks me better_ ,” you gasp in agreement, feeling the warm rolling of tears down your cheek.

“Oh _god_ ,” you cry out, leaning your head against the shaky metal doors as he continues to fuck you. Each thrust causes sparks of ecstasy to flicker in the pit of your stomach, striking again and again until you can barely stand on your own.

“ _I’m close_ ,” he says, his pace becoming erratic as he twists his fingers into the wrinkled fabric of your skirt.

You bite your lip as he drives into you a few more times before finishing with a throaty groan, pulling out of you just enough to coat the inside of your thighs and the lips of your cunt with his cum. You feel the warm spurts begin to gather, dripping down onto the grey tile at your feet.

Your legs are shaking still and you barely notice as he moves away, returning a moment later with a wad of wetted paper towels.

He begins to wipe at the area between your legs and you’re a bit too stunned to move so you just let him. To your surprise, the water he’d used to wet the towel was warm and his movements are careful and thorough.

You turn to face him when he’s done, watching as he cleans himself up as well. Slowly, you collect your scattered clothes from around you but he stops you, placing a hand on your arm.

“You should shower first,” he says, motioning to the tiled room behind you.

“You can go ahead,” you insist, taking a seat on the bench.

He gives you a strange look. “We can shower together.”

“Yeah,” you begin, digging through the bag at your feet for your phone. “I think I just gotta uh, end things with this guy first.”

He gives you a smirk so wide you almost kick him for it.

“Alright,” he says, as he grabs a bottle of body wash from his bag. “But make it quick.”

You roll your eyes.

“And tell him I said hi.”

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to reach out!  
> [tumblr](http://stelleum.tumblr.com) | [twitter](http://twitter.com/Iunaryear)


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